


see me in a new light

by brokendrums



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Mountaineering, Mountains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 17:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8722930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/pseuds/brokendrums
Summary: Niall joins the production team for Planet Earth II and Harry has an interesting proposition.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Golden Eagle section of Planet Earth II: Episode 2 where a cameraman is attached to an expert paraglider to get a good shot of the Alps. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I have never been mountaineering before. I have never been to Snowdon or the Alps. Or Media City for that matter. 
> 
> Written for the I Used to be Baker fic fest! Thanks mods for running it.
> 
> Title from The xx - Reunion

Niall had applied for the job as a joke, bolstered by Louis’s bravado and Liam’s careful excitement.

“You’ll get to meet David Attenborough!” Liam had said excitedly, eyes lit up in anticipation. 

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Louis had scoffed as Niall filled in his exam results and bluffed on his CV. 

Louis had wrestled the laptop off him and hit submit before Niall could even protest. 

Thousands of people apply to work at the BBC all the time -- he’d never get it, anyway. 

Then they’d went out for pints and Niall forgot all about it until three months later and he had a lovely woman on the phone wanting to schedule an interview. 

Now.

Now, Niall knows what the worst that could happen. 

Because the worst that could happen _is_ happening. 

Niall would truly shit his pants if his insides weren’t frozen solid. 

“You can do it, Niall!” Harry’s voice floats down. The line between them is drawn taut, Harry holding his own a few feet up. Niall had faltered, his fingers clawed into the rough mountain side. The rock below his left foot had crumbled, his leg jerking off it. He had flailed for a moment -- three thousand feet above the ground -- before he swung back to the mountain side, dug his crampons into the ice and he’d managed to cling on. 

Somewhere above him, Harry’s lodged his pick into a block of thick ice to secure them but Niall can’t look up and see him. If he looks up, he knows he’ll lose his balance. 

“Come on, Niall,” Harry calls encouragingly, his voice echoing slightly. The wind is picking up as the day wears on, a chill that’s getting colder and colder with every minute the sun goes down. “You can do it!”

Niall takes a breath, glances down. His vision swims and he feels unbalanced for a moment, the breath leaving him. Holy _fuck_. The ground looks impossibly far below him. 

“Niall!” Harry calls again and Niall forces his eyes upwards. Niall stares at the crags in the rock, grits his teeth. 

He’s going to _kill_ Louis. 

*

He first meets Harry at a production meeting six months into the project. So far, he’s gotten up close and personal with some city dwelling rats, had a run in with some territorial parrots and caught the worst food poisoning of his life in the backend of nowhere. (He couldn’t sit properly for days -- Louis hadn’t let him live that one down.)

He’s been moved onto the shoot of a golden hawk, slightly disgruntled that they’ve moved him teams _again_. There’s over one hundred shoots for the programme and Niall’s struggled to keep up. So far, he’s been pretty lost as to what he can bring to _any_ of the teams -- except his weight in dioralyte whenever they go abroad. 

“This is Harry,” Ben introduces from the front of the room. The guy to his right gives a dimpled smile and a wave. He looks tall, even next to Ben, his shoulders hunched under a sheer black shirt so Niall can see a hint of tattoos. “Harry’s an expert paraglider.”

Niall frowns and fiddles with the cap of his biro. Harry’s staring at him from the doorway and Niall can feel the heat of his gaze. What on earth do they need a paraglider for? Niall’s an expert pint drinker, maybe it’s the ice breaker Ben’s going with today. 

“Excellent,” David says excitedly. He spins in his chair so Niall can only see the back of his head. “We’re really excited you can come onto the project.”

Harry looks bashful for a moment. “Thanks for having me. It seems really fun.”

Niall huffs to himself. _Fun_. He hasn’t even got to meet David Attenborough once. 

Harry grins at him, sliding into the seat at the top of the table.

*

Niall’s checking his email for the last time when Harry drops by his desk. 

“Hey,” he says, holding a hand out. His hair is half swept across his face, his eyes bright. “I thought I’d properly introduce myself.”

Niall stares at him, his mouth slightly dry. He’s known Harry for two weeks now. They’re friends on Facebook. Niall’s smiled at him in the office, sat beside him twice in a production meeting and washed his coffee cup one particular Tuesday afternoon when he was particularly procrastinating. 

Niall feels a bit like he’s being tricked. “Nice to meet you,” he replies hesitantly. 

Harry breaks into a gentle grin as Niall meets his hand in a formal handshake. 

“Do you want to grab something to eat after work?”

They go for a curry just outside Media City. It’s busy, footfall fast as everyone heads home from a day’s work. Niall follows close to Harry’s back as he weaves them through the crowds and Harry somehow manages to flutter his eyelashes and gets them a table by the window. 

“So,” Harry says once they’ve ordered and Harry’s dragging a shard of poppadom through some raita. Niall take a swig of his beer, feeling a bit queasy like he’s out on an interview or -- as a waitress slides a tealight in a little yellow jar between them -- a blind date.

“Yeah?” Niall prompts when Harry just stares at him across at him, his elbow on the edge of the table. The riata is about to drip onto the placemat. 

Harry shoves the food into his mouth and Niall has to wait until he’s chewed and swallowed it all down until he speaks again. 

“I think we should work out,” Harry tells him bluntly, reaching for the plate of poppadoms again. 

Niall furrows his eyebrows, can feel himself do it. He reaches for his beer again, needing a distraction for a moment or two while he gathers his thoughts. 

“Work out?” Niall says after he’s swallowed another gulp of beer. 

Harry nods enthusiastically, licking crumbs off his fingertips. 

“Like,” Niall hesitates. Harry’s eating the rest of the poppadoms now, not even pretending to share the plate with Niall. “We’re going to work out well?”

Harry narrows his eyes at him, dripping chutney into the riata. 

“No,” Harry shakes his head, curls bouncing. “Like the gym.”

Niall rears his head back, completely confused for a moment. He glances down at himself and then across at Harry. 

Harry breaks into a grin, reaching for his beer. “Emma hasn’t spoken to you yet?”

“Spoken to me about what?”

It’s loud in the restaurant, all the tables around them filling up with chattering customers so Niall thinks he mishears him when he says ‘We’re going to paraglide in the Alps.”

“What?” Niall asks, shock freezing at his insides. 

Their food comes at that point, two steaming plates and it’s a kerfuffle for a moment -- Niall ordering another beer, Harry being all disarming smiles and polite thanks yous as he and the waitress juggle plates between themselves. 

“We’re going to recreate the dive of a golden eagle in the Alps,” Harry says once he’s spooned out pilau rice onto the plate and torn a strip of peshwari naan off the plate they got to share. 

Niall stares at him as he tucks into his dinner. 

“We’ve got the helicopter booked,” Niall starts. 

Harry glances up, his eyes flicking down to Niall’s empty plate. “You want some rice?” 

“Tim’s got the stuff for the hide,” Niall tells him. “I’m supposed to be going out into the hide to help him capture the birds there.”

Harry nods along, reaching across the table to spoon some rice onto Niall’s plate. Niall lets him, watching as he piles a little mound in the middle. Niall starts to laugh -- Harry’s putting way too much effort into making his plate look nice. 

The girls at the table next to them smile at him when he catches their eye accidentally. 

“You know why I’ve been brought on to this shoot?” Harry asks him. 

Niall nods, nerves beginning to manifest in his gut. 

“Well,” Harry shrugs, going back to his dinner. “I need someone to be my wingman. I need you to do the camera.”

“A golden eagle can swoop at a hundred miles an hour,” Niall mutters, still stunned. 

That’s why --” Harry shrugs again --”I need you fit.”

Niall feels affronted for a moment. “I _am_ fit.”

Harry looks up from his dinner, the corner of his mouth lifting up in a smirk. 

And that’s it. 

Niall’s floored by him. 

There’s a sparkle in his eye, glinting from the candle. His mouth looks red, so red and wet when he licks over his lips. He gives him another coy smile and it must be because Niall’s jaw has dropped a little bit. 

“So, then you’ll be able to show off then,” Harry says, his tongue licking out before he shoves his fork into his mouth. 

Niall blinks down at his plate. _Fuck_.

*

Harry is relentless in the ensuing weeks. 

Niall likes to be in the office early to miss the commuting traffic so Harry brings him coffees, pressed juices and, on gym days, vanilla protein shakes that have a gritty aftertaste. He delivers them with a dazzling smile to his desk, his face bright where Niall looks like he needs a good few more hours in bed. 

Then he slinks over to his desk and slurps them noisily, his tongue swirling around the straw as he checks his email. He’ll shrug out of his jacket and be wearing some garish, inappropriate shirt that’s buttoned at the navel and do lots of bending over before he’s ready to head to the photocopier. 

Niall’s coffee normally goes cold the length of time he stares, transfixed. 

At noon, like clockwork, he’ll come by and ask Niall if he wants a _salad_. Niall has to shake his head, his stomach rumbling as he waits for Harry to disappear out the office doors before he can slip off out for a sandwich from Pret to eat at his desk.

After work, Harry loiters until Niall’s finished up before they walk to the gym together. There, Harry runs until he’s rosy pink, lunges until his thighs stretch his tiny shorts, sweats until his t-shirt goes sheer and Niall can watch the ripple of his butterfly and whatever else he has etched on his skin under there. 

Niall has to turn his face into the cold spray of the shower afterwards to calm himself down. 

“Fancy a race up the climbing wall?” Harry asks, wiping sweat from his forehead one evening. 

Niall glances up from where he has his hands planted on his thighs. He’s wrecked, a stitch knitting itself up his side under his ribs. 

Harry’s chest is heaving, Niall stares at his rising shoulder for a moment. 

“Race up it.” 

“Well,” Harry smiles. “If you insist.”

Niall follows him dopily, still trying to catch his breath. The climbing wall looms up ahead, grey and foreboding.

Niall’s palm feel sweaty as he steps into the harness. Harry’s already rigged up -- he is a pro, afterall. 

Harry grins at him, his face still sweetly pink. Niall feels queasy. 

“Up you go,” Harry says, clapping his clammy hands on his shoulders. His thumb brushes against the column of his neck.

Niall gasps a breath, eyes dropping down to look at Harry’s full bottom lip. “Up I go.” 

The multicolour plastic grips are dotted across the climbing wall. He pulls himself up on a yellow one, his left foot lodged on a bright blue. He’s only a few feet off the ground when he starts to feel shaky, his fingers gripping like a vice around two grips shoulder width apart as he lifts his right foot. He bends his knee, feels the stretch of his sore muscles. 

“You’re doing so well, Niall,” Harry calls from below. Niall isn’t sure why he hasn’t started yet. Probably could still win. 

Niall glances down, feels his stomach lurch. 

“Oh,” he murmurs, clenching his eyes shut. 

There’s a child reaching the top. His father shouting and hollering down below beside Harry. Niall can hear the thumps of his trainers reverberate down through the hollow climbing wall as he presses his cheek to the cool, grey slope. 

“You okay, Niall?” Harry calls. 

Niall nods, his cheek scraping against the plastic. How the fuck is he going to do this on a real mountain? With the wind and the cold and the thousand feet drop without a harness to rely on. 

“Are you freaking out?” 

Niall blinks his eyes open. It’s not Harry who asks it but the ten year old who has just beaten him to the top. He’s hanging parallel to him, his shoulders relaxed as he holds on. He’s wearing a blue t-shirt with Spongebob on it. 

The boy’s face breaks into a loud laugh. Niall feels himself flush, his palms clammy and slick. His knees are shaking, one bent too acutely with his knee up above his hip. He can feel the thump of his heart in his throat, hot and thick and hard. 

He slips off the footholds almost gracefully, the harness pulling him tight enough around the groin to make him lose his breath. His marker on the ground holds him still so he hovers for a moment -- face burning -- before he jolts down. 

Foot-by-foot. 

Up above, the boy is still laughing. Niall can hear it under the rush of blood in his hears. The wires spin him so when he blinks his eyes open, blurry with the sting of unshed tears, he can see Harry staring up at him and the rest of the gym spreading out across the room. 

And then the floor is coming up much quicker. Niall flings a hand out to save himself but his feet stumble on the landing and he trips, lurching forward head first. The harness jerks at his chest and up tight around his balls. Fucking _Christ_.

Harry’s hands come out to steady him but Niall’s coming down too fast, too heavy. They land on the padded mat, Niall falling against Harry’s chest. The heel of his hand comes down over Harry’s shoulder, their legs slotting together. Pain radiates up Niall’s arm and he groans, loudly into Harry’s ear as the little air inside his lungs finally pushes its way out. 

It takes him a minute to orientate himself, his full weight settling on Harry. Niall flails for a moment, rocking his groin against the curve of Harry’s hip. 

The world shrinks to that moment, a pinpoint in time. Niall takes a rasping inhale, feels the weight of Harry’s hand, the sweat beading on his hairline, the twist of hot, pooling heat between his legs as Harry’s hips twitch up.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks him, quiet under his breath. Harry’s lips brush against the shell of Niall’s ear. 

Niall scrambles off, his face burning red. “Sorry,” Niall mutters under his breath, his hands already fighting at the hooks and buckles of the harness. Harry’s still sprawled across the floor, his mouth open and his hair a mess. His t-shirt is caught a bit in his own harness, his bare hip exposed with the way he’s lying, thighs splayed. 

Niall can feel the phantom heat of every point they were pressed together. Can still smell the musty smell of rubber, fresh sweat from behind Harry’s ear, the vanilla from their shakes. Niall breathes out, feels too hot as blood rushes away from his head. He rutted against him for fuck’s sake. 

“Fuck,” Niall swears, finally kicking his way out of the harness. The trainer is at his elbow, profusely apologising but it’s all white noise. Harry props himself up on his elbows, still staring at Niall. His mouth looks so pink.

Niall turns away from him. “I’ll see you in work.” And he’s surprised it even came out coherent. 

“Niall,” Harry calls after him and Niall leaves, fighting the urge to run. He can hear Harry kicking out of his own harness but Niall keeps going, winding through the rest of the gym and into the locker rooms. 

He forgoes the shower, pulling his bag and jacket over his shoulder and ducking out before Harry can even catch up to him.He doesn’t know how far Harry chased him -- if he even did at all but the air outside is cool against his cheeks and it feels impossibly good, despite the weight of impending anxiety about seeing Harry again in work already settling heavy on his shoulders. 

“You are a man-child,” Louis says waving a wooden spoon at him when Niall tells him all about it. He has a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a spot growing on his forehead. Niall doesn’t think he’s one to talk. “And you have a crush.”

“It’s not a crush,” Niall starts to protest. 

Louis snorts and goes back to where his Spaghetti Hoops are about to boil over on the stove.

“You just need laid,” Louis says over his shoulder. 

Niall looks at Liam but he’s frowning, his eyes lined and crinkled. “What’s the worst that can happen?” 

Niall drops his head down onto the kitchen table with a groan. “Stop fucking saying that.”

“Aren’t they for Freddie’s tea?” Liam asks over Niall’s slumped form. 

Louis tuts. “I’m testing them to make sure they’re alright.”

Liam laughs, shaking the whole kitchen table. 

Niall breathes into the pocket of air he has between his elbows, listening as Liam and Louis talk over his shoulder, his humid breath bouncing back to him. There will be condensation on the table with how heavy he’s heaving.

There’s a waft of the fan from the oven, the temperature in the kitchen increasing briefly as Louis opens the door to it. 

He just needs to catch himself on. Niall groans again. He can nearly see Harry’s stupid smile on the back of his eyelids. 

“Here,” Louis says, pressing something cold to the bent nape of his neck. Niall jerks up. “Have some tea and forget about it.”

He slides the baking tray over to him, the potato smilies looking a little burnt on the edges. Niall gives him a cynical look.

Louis passes him the cold beer in his other hand. “Suit yourself,” Louis says, lifting a smilie off the tray and shoving it into his mouth whole. 

Niall sinks back into his seat. The smilies smile up at him, slowly cooling in front of him. He lifts one gingerly, blowing on it when it’s too hot. 

He tries not to feel too pathetic when he bites it in half so it can’t smile anymore. 

He comes back from lunch on Thursday to find Harry lounging in his chair, his feet kicked up on the desk and his ankles crossed over Niall’s insurance forms. 

“Hello,” Niall says, faltering at the corner of his desk. Harry smiles at him, his phone sitting bright on his thigh, propped up against the bulge in his groin.

It’s hard not to get distracted by it now that Niall knows what it feels like to be pressed up against it.

Niall snaps his eyes away quickly

“Hey,” Harry smiles, dragging it out so he sounds wasted. 

“Anything I can do for you?” Niall asks, setting his bag under the corner of his desk. Harry glances down at them, his eyebrows raised.

Niall fights off the blush. The office is still busy during lunch, chatter and laughter filling up the space. A few of the teams are back at base at the minute -- breaks in photography, between projects, research into where to go next. Their conversation goes unnoticed. 

“You’re avoiding me,” Harry points out. 

Niall raises an eyebrow, tries to appear aloof. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Harry smirks. He sits up properly, letting his legs drop. He doesn’t look as long this way, it lets Niall breathe a little easier. 

“You’re coming to the gym with me tonight. And then we’re going again tomorrow. And we’ll get you to the top of that mountain.”

Niall feels himself flush again. “Harry, I’m not a child.”

Harry snorts. “I know you’re not. 

He feels strangely exposed standing in front of him in his coat. Harry gives him another sly smile and Niall feels himself smiling back. 

“Get back to work,” Niall tells him, swatting him on the shoulder. 

Harry laughs brightly. “Gym then?”

Niall settles into his desk, busying himself with unlocking his computer again. He can feel Harry’s expectant gaze on him and it makes him feel jittery that Harry’s waiting on him. 

“Lets climb a mountain,” Niall says instead.

*

The night before they climb Snowdon, Harry invites Niall round to his house to stay under the pretenses of getting up early to drive down to Wales. 

“Be careful, Sailor,” Louis tells him on the way out the door. The only reason Niall doesn’t swing for him is Freddie’s sleepy face curled into Louis’s neck. 

It’s pouring with rain and Niall keeps his head ducked down, wind battering the side of his face and lifting the back of his coat as he makes his way across town. 

“Christ,” Harry says when he opens his door. His bare toes are curled against the carpet, chipped with nail varnish. “You should’ve phoned me and I would’ve came and got you.”

Niall stands on his doorway, teeth chattering and face dripping until Harry jumps out of the way and ushers him in. 

“Come in.” Harry pulls at his shoulder, his fingers helping Niall out of his soaked coat. He’s leaving a puddle on the floor just inside the door but at least it’s cosy inside, a wall of heat as Harry pushes him into the living room with a hand on the base of his back. “Here,” Harry murmurs, lifting a towel off the clothes horse of washing in the corner and scrubbing it through his hair. 

Niall bites his lip to stop from groaning as Harry’s fingers sink into his scalp. Harry’s house feels home-y. Lived in. He likes that he didn’t really make too much of a fuss tidying up, as if Niall’s is some fancy guest. It’s more relaxed this way. 

Niall takes a breath, lets his shoulders drop. 

Harry’s fingers brush through the damp ends of Niall’s hair, pulling his fringe away from his eyes. Niall blinks up at him, feeling too hot and too cold at the same time. His glasses have fogged up a little bit from the sharp temperature change and Harry huffs out a laugh, lifting them off his face so they can peer at each other. 

Niall feels like he can’t breathe, something tight gripping him between the lungs as he looks at Harry’s soft face. He needs to shave, the smattering of stubble looking like a poor attempt at growing a moustache. 

Niall wonders for a brief moment what it would feel like against his face, under his jaw, between his thighs.

Niall shivers jerkily. Harry offers him an innocent smile, carefully folding his glasses together and holding them out to him. 

Niall takes them out of his palm, biting at his lip. 

Hopefully, he’ll have a chance to find out tonight. 

“I’ll do the tea,” Harry tells him, disappearing off into the kitchen.

Niall settles in the living room. He kicks off his shoes by the door, drags his jumper over his head and pulls the towel around his shoulders again to soak the drips off his hair. 

He can hear Harry humming in the kitchen over the boil of the kettle. The murmurs of him singing along to something. 

He glances around, catches sight of Harry’s face reflected back ten-fold in photographs scattered around the room. Most are in frames, shiny copper that catches the low lamp light and must of cost a fortune from some fancy home decor boutique. There’s a surprising variety of people pressed between the glass but one face in particular catches Niall’s eye, his sharp cheekbones and swoopy dark hair repeating.

A flickering candle wick illuminates one perched at the end of the sofa. Harry’s lying on a beach, his torso unmarked from tattoos and his face young. The sun is setting behind them, the photograph not doing the lilacs and pinks justice. The other man is curled up under Harry’s arm, his jaw sharp as he’s angled up to reach Harry. Neither of them are looking at the camera, Harry half in shadow as he’s caught in a kiss.

Niall suddenly has a raw, clawing thought that there’s going to be someone else here. That someone else lives in with Harry, shares his bed. Niall presses his thumb to the glass, his fingerprint smearing over the stranger’s profile. 

Harry reappears from the kitchen, his face softer. He’s got two cups in either hand, a packet of Jaffa Cakes clasped between his teeth. 

He mumbles something, his mouth too full for Niall to make out. Harry’s eyes crinkle and he shoves a cup of milky tea at Niall. 

“Sorry,” Harry says, once he’s dropped the Jaffa Cakes onto the coffee table. “I would offer you a beer but I don’t think it would be wise for tomorrow.”

Niall nods, settling onto the sofa. Harry smiles again, something hopeful masked by a gentle ease. Niall cups his hand around the mug, the heat seeping into his palm. It’s nearly too milky for him, waning on a warm grey. 

“Why are we climbing Snowdon again?” Niall asks, the nervousness sweeping into his gut and washing away everything else. 

Harry grins. “Practise.”

“I feel like I need practise for that.”

“Practise for the practise,” Harry snorts, setting his mug on the corner of the coffee table and edges off to the other side of the room. The low lamp light doesn’t stretch that far so he’s clouded in shadow for a moment and all Niall can make out is the pattern of his shirt. 

There’s a faint click, the jerk of sound and then the soft fuzz of a needle hitting the groove in a record. Niall finds himself smiling as the music fills the room. It feels so much warmer from the record player, more tangible in Harry’s tiny living room. 

Harry spins on his heel, a tentative expression on his face as if he thinks that Niall would take the piss out of him. 

“I don’t know many people who still use a record player,” Niall says instead. It’s supposed to be encouraging but the words hang there for a moment and Niall hopes that Harry didn’t take them the wrong way. 

But Harry’s fighting a grin as he comes back to the sofa. He sits beside Niall, bending over to reach his mug. His shirt draws up his back and Niall can see the pop of his vertebrae. 

The room feels warm now that the heating is on. Niall’s cheeks getting warmer. It’s a shock from the sudden cold, his ears starting to burn. 

“It’s the best way to listen,” Harry says, a beat too long after he’s sat down. The silence stretches out between them, filled with the slow swell of Pink Floyd. 

Niall’d quite like a beer -- something to take the edge off, something to give him that extra shove to just _go for it_. His fingers itch, fidgeting with the cool rivlet of his jeans, the pad of his thumb scraping over it again and again. 

He doesn’t think he’s reading the situation wrong. Harry’s invited him here under some cocked up, false pretenses and Niall’s more than happy to play along as long as it ends up with him pressed into the middle of Harry’s mattress. 

It’s just a strange way to go about it. 

Harry just smiles at him, sinking further back into the sofa. His thigh is roasting hot pressed against Niall’s, even through the two layers of denim. Niall watches him pick the chocolate off the top of a Jaffa Cake, his lips pulled back so he can nibble around the edges. He looks childish for a moment, soft and bleary around the edges. 

He peels the orange jelly off the top with his tongue and it looks extra pink when is appears out of his mouth again to lick at his lips. Niall lifts his mug to his mouth, takes a hot gulp so it burns at the back of the throat. 

He suspects that Harry knows that Niall’s watching. There’s not much else to look at. Half of the art on the walls are obscured by shadows, the photographs are full of the mysterious person pressed to Harry’s side, he has no TV to distract them. 

Harry drains his mug, sets it back onto the coffee table so Niall can see the milky residue coating the bottom of the mug. The wrapper from the Jaffa Cakes is caught under it, the cellophane tearing so some of the biscuits splay out onto the worn wood. 

“I’ll get you a pillow,” Harry says as soon as the song ends. Niall looks up at him abruptly. He’s still got half of his tea in his cup, rapidly cooling the longer he lets it sit. 

Harry gives him a half smile and stands up, disappearing down the short hallway to the bedrooms. 

Harry’s gone long enough for one song to change to another, the guitars ruminating as if they’re coming from the floorboards themselves, edging out of the silence like they were born to be there. Niall feels it settle in his chest -- the confusion, the intensity of whatever Harry’s playing at. 

Harry comes back in a pair of red tartan pyjama bottoms. They’re low enough that Niall can stare at the faint trail of hair as it grows darker and wider across the bottom of his abdomen. He’s not wearing a shirt so Niall can see over the expanse of his skin, the dark of his tattoos, the brown-pink of his nipples. 

“Oh,” Harry says, catching how Niall’s gaze is roving over his attire. “Do you want some pyjamas?”

Niall stares at him for a moment, mouth dry with shock and a hint of arousal. “No,” he says, finding his voice. “I should be okay.”

“Okay.” Harry thrusts a pillow at him. “I’ll leave the heat on so it won’t get cold.”

Niall nods, watching as Harry slinks over to the record player. The music cuts off abruptly, the rip of it echoing through the room. It makes him snort, how artificial the sound is. Like he’s gotten it off the sound effects board in work. 

“Night,” Harry says breezily and edges back down the hallway towards his bedroom.  
It feels sort of surreal as Niall stands up and kicks out of his jeans. He had been so sure that he’d be following him down the hallway. Otherwise, he’s not really sure why he’s here at all. 

Niall bends over the side of the sofa, stares at the picture of Harry on the beach again. He looks young and happy. With a sinking feeling, Niall blows out the candle and sings back onto the sofa with the blanket pulled taut over him.

He listens as Harry’s flat quietens down -- the drip in the kitchen, the low sound of traffic on the street down below. There’s a soft thump in Harry’s room, Harry still awake and getting ready for bed. Niall turns his head, stares at the light spreading through the door from the hallway. The pillow smells of shampoo, soft with conditioner. It must be straight off Harry’s bed and Niall feels something stir in his stomach as he presses his nose further in, inhaling the scent of Harry. 

*

He dreams of chewing blocks of ice until his teeth shatter and crack, toppling out of his gums as if they were made too big for his mouth. That and the ache of his hands. Those are the only things he remembers when he’s shaken awake. 

“C’mon,” Harry says. “We’ll be late.”

Niall moans, pressing his head further into the pillow. The room is nearly stifling hot but he burrows under the soft blanket anyway. 

“Niall,” Harry sing songs, shoving his arse onto the edge of the sofa by Niall’s hip. A hand presses against Niall’s forehead and when he opens his eyes, Harry’s staring down at him. 

“Fuck,” Niall jerks away, blinking away from Harry for a moment. He’s already dressed, a thick polo neck creeping up his neck and a hand pulled down over his forehead so his face looks like it’s looming over him. 

Harry snorts and stands up, moving away to pull open the curtain -- not that it does much good because it’s still dark outside. 

Niall rolls onto his arse, dragging his tongue over his teeth to make sure they’re all there. His stress-dreams have been getting more vivid lately. 

“Rise and shine,” Harry calls, disappearing into the kitchen. 

He’s left a pile of clothes carefully folded on the corner of the coffee table. Niall pulls on his trousers from his bag and then the t-shirt that Harry’s left out for him. Next comes a soft, warm fleece and two pairs of socks balled together.

At the bottom of the pile are a pair of boxers and Niall stares at them, mouth dry. He’s already pulled on his trousers and it’s a bit strange to wear a relative strangers underwear but panic wells in his throat at the thought of giving them back to Harry so he would know that he didn’t even change his underwear. 

He lifts them into his hand, feels how soft and worn they are. He rubs his thumb over the ridge of the seam.

“Ready?” Harry asks from the dark of the doorway. Niall jerks again, face feeling warmer as he thinks of Harry watching him get dressed. He turns his back to the doorway and balls the boxers in his fist, shoving them into the front pocket of his bag. _Fuck_. Stealing your co-workers boxers is far weirder than wearing them. 

“I made more tea,” Harry says from behind him and he sounds amused, like he saw exactly what Niall did. 

Niall schools his face, urges it to cool down before he turns back to him. He’s got two thermos flasks in his hand, the two handles gripped in one fist. With the other he reaches down to the coffee table and picks up another Jaffa Cake. 

“Nutritious breakfast,” Niall comments, feeling a bit bitter that Niall wasn’t even allowed a beer for the sake of their health today but Harry gets to gorge on chocolate. 

Harry grins at him and starts to nibble at the sides of it like last night. 

Niall shrugs into his coat, feeling sweat gather at the nape of his neck. 

“Ready,” he says and Harry beams at him, leading the way out of the living room. He passes Niall the flasks in the hallway and gathers up a mountain of gear that he’s got sitting just behind the door. Harry’s bedroom light is still on and Niall catches a glimpse of his unmade bed, the space on the far side of the mattress that’s pillow-less. 

The cold air feels all the more shocking from the heat of Harry’s flat. 

“Fuck,” Niall swears. “It’s bloody freezing.”

Harry snorts, walking on down the street. Niall has no idea what his car looks like so he follows him helplessly. His breath trails after him in puffs of white that Niall can just about see in the orange of the street lights. The road is silent, a faint smattering of frost on the pavement below his feet. He curls his fingers into his fists around the handles, presses his mouth against the collar of his coat. 

The cold bites into him, drills down to bone. The flasks offer some respite but his knuckles feel frozen and sore. Harry stops beside a dark car and pops open the boot. 

“This is warm compared to where we’re going,” Harry tells him when Niall catches up to him. “Snowdon won’t be that bad. But --”

He finishes with a smile and shrug. Niall gapes at his bright expression. The inside of the car is full of equipment -- ropes and bags, picks and carabiners as big as his head, a bright pile of his parachute wings. Harry offers him another encouraging smile and Niall turns, moving to the passenger door before his teeth chatter out of his mouth. He can hear the faint huff of laughter from Harry as he throws in his bags and boots on top of the rest of the equipment.

Harry listens to the xx album on the way down. It’s not particularly what Niall would call energising music to climb mountains to but it’s nice as they drive, the sun rising up over the horizon and turning the sky a dull egg blue. 

“I camped out here for my 21st birthday,” Harry tells him when they’re on the last song, his voice gravelly from disuse. Niall turns his head, blinks as the sun breaks through a cloud behind Harry’s nose. “It was freezing. We had to sleep in these orange survival bags and I kept slipping down a few inches. I couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep because I thought I was going slide right off the edge of a cliff. Zayn ended up tying us together.”

Harry rubs at his wrist unconsciously, over a mark that isn’t there anymore. 

“The sunrise was worth it though,” Harry murmurs over the music. “It was so bright. The clouds just spread out below us, like a flat plain of soft marshmallow. Like we could just go and press our face into it and it would be moulded like memory foam.” Harry breaks off to laugh. “And then that was it. I’d caught the bug. I couldn’t see myself going back to my normal life after that. I just wanted to always be the tallest person in the world.”

There’s something a little melancholy in Harry’s tone, his eyebrows dipped as he thinks over his happy memory.

Harry shrugs, his mouth turning up. “Zayn preferred the beach.”

Niall glances up at him, thinking of how soft he was in the photo by the sofa. Harry doesn’t seem to mind that Niall has no idea who Zayn is, that he’s piecing this all together like shards of a mirror that’s better off put to use in an old mosaic. 

“Here we are,” Harry sing-songs as takes pulls up on the side of the road. 

It truly is magnificent. Even from the side of the road. The mountains stretch up around them, like they’ve burrowed down into the middle of them all. The sky is getting bluer -- Niall’s thankful the heavens decided to rain itself out yesterday -- and it’s busy for this early on a Sunday, cars lined up along the road and a few red and green and blue spots of garish windbreakers already ascending. 

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Niall calls over the top of the car to Harry as they climb out. It looks like a pretty steep -- but manageable -- walk. 

Harry snorts, walking around to the boot of the car. “Yeah that isn’t the one we’re climbing.”

Niall glares at him, dread solidifying inside him. “What one are we climbing?”

Harry grins at him gleefully, pointing over Niall’s shoulder. 

The mountain creeps up above them, the summit looming impossibly high. Misty cloud obscures the tip, the white of the snow blinding in the morning light. It looks magnificent, Niall’s breath caught in his throat. 

“That’s like a million metres high.”

Harry stops beside him, pulling on a pair of sun glare glasses and hiding his eyes behind polarised blue. “One-oh-eight-five metres actually. Not that bad. If we have time we’ll take a go at Crib Goch too.”

Harry slides his glasses down the bridge of his nose so Niall can see his calculating expression and the whites of his eyes. He doesn’t like the sound of that. The car in front of them has a pale yellow _baby on board_ sign and Niall might actually die off with embarrassment if there’re children climbing this monstrosity. 

Harry locks the car with a bleep and sets off, his back to the mountain as he takes sure steps backwards across the rough grass. “Come on. Race you!”

*

Niall sort of feels drunk when he reaches solid, _flat_ land. 

“Oh, thank the good lord almighty,” Niall groans when he slams into Harry’s car, his legs like jelly. 

Harry laughs loudly behind him and Niall doesn’t know how he has the energy to laugh that loud. 

Snowdon had been-- 

\--fucking horrendous. 

Niall can admit it was beautiful -- the marshmallow clouds, the wispy fog that settled around them and sent the sun blurred and gentle on their necks. The lake below the sharp drop of Crib Goch had been still, like it was a waterpainting and not actually water at all. The lush greens and yellow stone had reflected back until Niall was dizzy, his fingers clawed into the crags as they shimmied their way across. 

Niall had also never been so terrified in his life, his heart lodged in his throat with every inch them made. 

“Maybe I don’t like heights,” he tells Harry as they kick off their hiking boots and strip off their coats. It’s boiling now that they’re down at sea level, the last of the sun beating down. Niall’s just happy not to feel so out of breath and lightheaded from the altitude. 

“Bit late for that,” Harry snorts, sliding into the driver’s seat. 

Niall falls asleep on the way back, his bones melting into the soft seat of Harry’s car as he turns on the xx album again. When they get back to Manchester, creeping in the evening traffic, it’s started to rain again. 

“Sorry,” Niall apologises over the squelch of the wipers. "I'm rubbish at roadtrips." 

Harry smiles at him, his expression tired. “We’ll be home soon.”

Niall directs Harry to his house, the car winding out of town to the street where Niall’s called home the past few years. 

It’s still raining pretty hard but Niall opens the passenger door, letting in a gust of cool air. He feels tired, exhaustion overcoming him suddenly. 

It’s the blurry sleepy feeling that makes him lean across the handbrake and reach for Harry. He catches Harry’s alarmed expression, catalogues it away for later and kisses him anyway. 

Harry’s palm is clammy when it curls around Niall’s wrist. Niall groans, licks across the seam of Harry’s mouth. 

The knowledge that Harry’s not kissing back finally filters into his consciousness and he pulls back, Harry’s hand tight around his wrist. 

“Shit,” he breathes into Harry’s face, his eyes widening to take in every inch of Harry's blank expression. 

“It’s okay,” Harry mutters, wincing slightly. “Just don’t think we should --”

Niall gapes at him, his stomach turning to liquid. Harry waves a hand around, looking slightly pained and Niall can't listen to any more of Harry's long and winding explanations. He doesn't want to hear the speech about being _just_ friends. He slithers out of the car before Harry can start, slamming the door behind him. 

“Fuck, not again,” Harry calls, his voice muffled through the thick glass of the window.

Water runs in rivulets down Niall’s face. He’s still half in a state of shock and he blames that for why he's still standing there and not already safe inside. 

Harry’s head pops up over the top of the car. “Will you stop rubbing yourself up against me and then running away?”

“I was _not_ rubbing against you,” Niall snaps, his face flushing. Niall feels a hot swell of mortification and he can't look back at him, just finds the strength in his feet to take a step towards the driveway.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Harry calls after him. 

Niall raises a middle finger over his shoulder, storming up to the house.

Louis is on his back in the middle of the living room, Freddie and Liam both sitting on his chest, when he slams his way through the door.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Niall says, exhaustion overcoming him as he stumbles in collapse onto the sofa. 

For once, the other’s don’t ask him. 

Outside, the rain batters on. 

*

It feels a bit like deja vu, Niall coming back in one miserable Thursday afternoon with a Pret sandwich under his arm and a Harry at his desk. 

“Stop ignoring me,” Harry tells him, cutting straight to the chase. The office is emptier this afternoon, two groups out in Madagascar and the Brazil footage in post-production. 

“I’m not ignoring you,” Niall lies, shoving at Harry’s ankles so he can put his lunch beside his keyboard. He’s being a bit pedantic -- his lunch doesn’t have to go there at all. 

“Look,” Harry says, dropping his voice. He doesn’t get up out of his chair though and Niall hovers, feeling silly, at the corner of his own desk. “I thought I’d explain.”

Niall shakes his head. It’s a week until they head to France and Niall’s been trying to weasel his way out of it since they’d gotten back from Wales but he’s been refused. So he’s taking a new tactic -- forgetting anything embarrassing even happened. 

“Leave it,” Niall tells him. “I don’t need to know.”

Harry looks a bit put out for a moment but then he slumps back into Niall’s chair. He steeples his fingers in front of his face for a moment, contemplating. “If that’s what you prefer.”

It’s not. Not really. But France is looming close and he has a million and one things he still has to do -- finding his balls from down the back of the sofa being number one. And he can’t do that when he’s dealing with Harry too, his stomach jittery and his willpower dissipating the longer Harry sits in his personal space. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Harry tells him, his voice dropping again. He must be able to see the conflict behind Niall’s eyes. 

Harry stands up, his hand brushing against Niall’s stomach as he passes him to get into the aisle between desks. Niall’s breathing a bit harder, something he can’t quite control as well as he’d like. There’s still something inside his body reacting to Harry being so close that he can’t help. 

“See you up there,” Harry says, saluting him. And then he’s gone. 

*

And that’s pretty much how he finds himself here, nearly blown off the side of a mountain that they were supposed to be _walking_ up. 

Snowdon times three, Harry had said when Niall met up with him in France. His hair had grown an inch or two in the few weeks since he’d last seen him and he was building a generous spattering of patchy stubble on his lip. 

Niall hadn’t looked much better -- run ragged trying to capture enough footage in freezing temperatures. He had spent three days in a freezing hide, Tim bundled up and grumbling beside him as a sole golden eagle soared past them for ten-point-two seconds in 72 hours of footage. 

They had left Emma and Tim deep down in the valley and set off the for the summit early this morning. Harry had been smiley and happy and Niall had tried to take his lead, swallowing down the lump of bile that has been lodged in his throat since Tuesday and pretending to be serene with the whole thing. 

It’s clearly working for Harry. 

“Nearly there!” Harry calls back, his elbow working at setting another pick. They had hit a rough patch of ice, the snow drifts creeping closer to the summit than usual.

The wind had picked up, the sky darkening. Niall and Emma had spent the past three days drilling meteorological reports and running worst case scenarios. He hadn’t thought one would come true. 

“Good, Niall!” Harry yells back. Niall hardly listens to him. He’s been shouting nonsense at him for the past twenty minutes, Harry taking the lead at creeping up a crevasse on the side of the mountain. 

It’s felt longer, Harry’s body edging further away as Niall stalls on the side of the mountain. He feels half deaf, half frozen, half water and too light to be tethered to slippery ice in the blowing wind. 

Niall breathes through the thick wool of his balaclava and shoves his crampon into the snow again. He tests the strength of it again, feels it steady enough to push up another foot. His arms are starting to ache, the cold leaching through his thick coat. 

Harry’s thick gloved hands are gripping at his shoulders when he reaches the top, the lip of the cliff covered in snow as he hauls himself over. It’s not anything like climbing a wall in school or into Annie Shaw’s back garden for a quick snog in her backshed. 

Not even like Snowdon and its craggy rocks and thick snow and foggy clouds at his elbows. 

Everything is strange blue white, bright even though it’s dark enough to be half at night. 

Harry’s face is covered by wool and shiny waterproofing but Niall can tell he’s smiling. Niall gasps in a breath, curling himself further away from the edge. He's not sure if you can get vertigo when horizontal but his head swims -- as if he could just glance at the snow's edge and he'd roll right over the top.

The wind pushes against Niall's face, pulling at anything that isn't as smooth as snow. Harry’s digging his heels in, his body angled to block most of it from Niall. 

“We can’t take off like this,” Harry yells at him. The wind drags at them again and the snow at Niall’s shoulder drifts, a handful of it disappearing so he sinks an inch into the wet and cold. 

Niall catches his breath, his hands aching. Harry’s lying across him like a big paperweight. 

“Shelter!” Harry bellows, his hands gripping around the strap of Niall’s backpack to pull him up. 

They walk for what seems like an eternity, their tired legs trudging through the knee height snow. It feels so deep, his gloved fingertips skimming across the snow banks. 

It’s untouched -- perfect, bright white solids. Niall can’t believe they go so deep. He follows Harry, sticking close so he doesn’t get lost, his hand hooked around the loop in his backpack. 

Like a mirage, the shelter emerges out of the snow. It’s a pale metallic silver colour and blends in with the stacked snow against its left side. It’s leaning slightly, one corner of the little caravan sunk into the snow. 

Niall’s never been so happy to see it. 

It’s empty, the inside cold and musty, smelling of metal and burnt flares. The door swings shut and they’re suddenly in a pocket of silence compared to the blustering wind outside. It still howls around them -- the tin walls shaking with the force of the gales. 

The adrenaline is wearing off quickly, Niall’s legs feeling like jelly. He takes a step towards the table in the middle of the room and stumbles, his hand coming up to catch the corner of the table. He falls to half crouch, his thighs straining. 

“Are you going to bonk?” Harry asks him seriously, his face nearly swallowed up by his thick coat and hood. His eyes peer out from his balaclava and Niall can see the concern in them. He struggles with his glove for a moment, flapping his hand until it flies off his fingers and he can reach across and pull Niall’s glasses off his face. 

“What?” Niall asks, his voice still shaking. He takes another deep breath, tries to release his grip from the table but finds he can’t. 

Harry frowns at him. “I think you’re bonking.”

“Boinking?” Niall asks. “It’s really not the time to be talking about this.”

“I think it’s just the right time to be talking about this,” Harry disagrees with him. 

Niall hasn’t the energy to rolls his eyes. His chest still feels tight, his muscles so heavy that he can hardly move. He’s sort of lying in limbo -- his fingers gripped like a vice around the edge of the metal table and his legs splayed out in front of him. He feels warm all of a sudden now that they’re out of the wind. 

“I think I’m dying of altitude sickness and you’re thinking of my bloody sex life?” Niall cries, feeling a little hysterical. “I said it should wait.” 

Harry opens his mouth and then snaps it shut. His face swims for a moment until Niall blinks him back into focus. Harry’s eyes are crinkled at the edges, clearly amused.

“What are you bloody smiling at?” Niall demands.

Harry breaks into a sharp laugh and he finally reaches for him, grabbing his arm. “Bonking. Not bloody _boinking_. It means to hit the wall. I was wondering if I should go find an emergency Snickers bar to shove in you. Not, you know, my dick.”

Niall falls the last few inches onto the floor with a muffled thump. His cheeks feel roaring red. 

Harry grins at him again, pulling his balaclava away so Niall can finally see how big his grin is. 

“Shut up,” Niall says faintly, leaning back until he can rest against the floor. He still has his backpack on so he’s elevated a few inches off the ground and at an angle but the muscles in his thighs slowly start to thaw out. 

Harry chuckles, standing up straight and starting to unravel the many layers he’s got on. Niall watches him as he loses his backpack, then his coat. He’s got on waterproof trousers and thicker climbing leggings on underneath. He pulls them all off until he’s standing in a pair of wooly long johns and under-armour that looks like it’s sculpted to his body. Niall can see the definition in his muscles, how strong he looks even though he’s still lanky and gangly. His hips are sharp when he turns and Niall catches the slight roundness of his arse, the heavy bulge of his dick through the soft wool. 

“You still thinking of that Snickers bar, yeah?” Harry asks innocently and Niall snaps his eyes away, knowing he’s been caught. 

Harry busies himself unpacking his backpack. He’s got all sorts of stuff in there and slowly, Niall gains the feeling back to his outer limbs. He shimmies out of his backpack and clothes -- but keeps his trousers and t-shirt on -- and is finally able to stand up. 

“How long do you think it’ll take to pass?” Niall asks after there’s another roar of wind. 

Harry shrugs, barely looking up from where he’s fiddling with something in his pack. “It’ll get worse before it’s done.”

Niall grimaces and drops down onto one of the chairs at the table to check his camera equipment. The cameras are cool to the touch, Niall’s fingers gnarled and cracked from the cold but otherwise in okay working order. 

“You and Zayn climb up here too?” Niall asks him quietly. 

Harry looks up sharply, his smile tight. “Nope,” he says carefully, and then after a hesitation. “Just me and you.”

Niall looks away quickly so Harry can’t see the smile on his face. The cabin is starkly furnished -- a steel table and two basic chairs. There’s four fold down bunks, the thin mattresses looking uncomfortable but Niall’s happy to see them. A shelf along the side holds some tin mugs and camping crockery that has been left behind by other travellers but otherwise, the room looks bare. 

Harry’s unrolling his sleeping bag and Niall grins when he sees the gas burner tucked in side. He’s hungry -- fatigue settling on his bones as the adrenaline wears off. 

“Tea?” Niall asks hopefully. 

Harry snorts. “Of course, I’m always prepared.”

Niall watches as Harry pulls on his balaclava again and the bulky coat. Without the rest of his layers, it looks huge on his shoulders, his legs extra skinny in just the woolen underwear. 

“If I’m not back in ten,” Harry says seriously, a small saucepan in his hand and the other curled around the handle to the door. “You know a snow leopard has got me.”

Niall snorts, blowing him off but his breathing hitches with worry as soon as Harry opens the door. There’s a blast of cold air, Niall gasping at the feel of it and Harry’s gone. 

The minute drags on forever. Niall can hear the tick of his watch, the drip of the melting snow off his coat hanging on the wall. His camera whines on the table, the zoom contracting back into its body as it powers down. He’s not even sure if there are snow leopards on the Alps. 

The fluorescent lights fizz above him and it feels like the steel hut is shaking with every burst of rough wind. There are grooves etched into the table in the middle of the hut, scrapes of previous tenants. Niall runs his numb fingers over them, wondering if they felt quite as out of their depth as Niall does right now. 

Harry crashes back through the door moments later. 

“Oh, thank Christ,” Niall exclaims, reaching over to pull him into a tight hug. He’s freezing, his entire coat cold against Niall’s front. 

Niall shivers and Harry grins at him, the bridge of his nose pink as he pulls off his balaclava. “I fought them all off,” Harry tells him, his teeth sharp as he bites his lip. 

Niall stares at him for a moment -- transfixed with how green his eyes are -- before he realises how tight he’s holding him and has to let go. 

“Sorry,” he apologises, taking a step back. Harry shrugs, his coat gaping open when he unzips it. He passes Niall the saucepan full of snow to hold as he slips out of his coat. 

“It’s going to be a cold one tonight.”

Niall doesn’t want to contemplate it, just happy enough that they’re sheltered for the time being. The wind roars outside, whistling through the grates in the hut. 

Harry grins, bending down over his bag. It gives Niall another rather lovely look at his bum. Niall manages to snap his eyes away before Harry stands up and turns round and he has to look back when Harry sits down opposite him again, brandishing a squashed packet of Jaffa Cakes.

Niall busies himself with the equipment as Harry sets to work, the hiss of the gas burner and the snow melting. They have no signal, their phones useless in contacting Emma and the rest of the team down below. Niall knows from all of his weather cramming, that it could be a few hours before they realise that Niall and Harry wouldn't be able to jump. It sets Niall's stomach churning knowing that they'll be worrying about them. 

Niall yawns into his wrist and watches sleepily as Harry opens the biscuits and nibbles at the end of one. He smiles shyly at him, emptying the contents of the saucepan into four mugs. “This is some feast,” Niall praises him, looking at the little mugs of tea and soup Harry’s prepared. “Cakes and everything.” 

Harry shrugs, trying to look modest and failing. “I used to be a baker, you know?” 

Niall snorts, sliding a spoon into the first mug. Steam spirals up from the soup, smelling heavenly. It's just a cheap packet soup, something to warm them up but Niall's never been so glad for it. 

“Sure you did, Harry,” Niall mutters. Bakers would be able to make a better cup of tea, Niall muses to himself glancing at the oily sheen on Harry’s tea. 

"I know this isn't what you were expecting," Harry says after a few moments of contemplative silence. The wind is still roaring horrifically outside, whistling through the gaps in the window. Niall licks the back of the spoon, tomato and basil bursting across his tongue. "But we'll be okay. We'll get down in the morning."

Niall nods, hearing the weighted nervousness in Harry's tone. Any deviation from the plan sets a spanner in the works but Niall knows that Harry has the added task of keeping them _safe_. He gives Harry his best smile. "I trust you." 

Harry glances away, his expression unexpectedly bashful.

They bed down early, eager to get some rest. Niall can feel the cold seep through the soles of his socks, the waterproofing on his sleeping bag cool against his palm as he gets the zip. 

They’re quiet for a few moments, Harry shuffling about in the dark across the room. Niall can hear the wind as he settles on his own bunk, burrowing into the fleece of his sleeping bag. 

“We should conserve body heat,” Harry says matter-of-factly. Niall glances up at him. He knows that they don’t need too -- they’ve both got top-of-the-range sleeping bags and enough layers that they should last the night -- but Harry’s looking so serious and has his Mountain Guide Expression on his face again that Niall just nods. 

Plus, there’s a rather large part of Niall that will take _any_ excuse to be closer to Harry. 

“Okay,” Niall agrees, his voice low. Harry nods, peeling back his half of the sleeping bag. Niall swallows the well of saliva in his mouth and shuffles out of his covers. He hisses at the cold steel against his feet and jumps the rest of the way across the cabin to Harry’s bunk. 

They don’t talk as Niall climbs in so it’s just their heavy breathing and rustling of waterproofing. The bunk creaks slightly as Niall settles his weight beside Harry on his back. Harry’s turned onto his side, his back pressed up against the wall. He reaches across Niall’s chest to do the zip, dragging it up slowly. 

Niall’s breathing too hard, his heart suddenly thumping in his chest. It’s loud too -- he knows that Harry will be able to hear it over the howl of the wind. He can nearly feel it reverberating through the steel bedframe. 

Harry shifts slightly, his woolen knee pressing against Niall’s leg. He feels soft and warm. Niall presses back with a hint of pressure -- testing. 

It’s warmer here and Niall’s instantly grateful, a tiny part of his chest giving way to let more of Harry in. He smells like that pillow -- soft and warm and home-y. Niall presses his nose to Harry’s collarbone, just to see what it feels like.

Harry presses his hand to Niall's hip, rolls him until they're pressed against each other. Niall opens his mouth to breathe, his lips dragging wetly over Harry's skin. He's crossing a line but Harry feels so open against him as if he's waiting for it to happen too.

“Niall,” Harry whispers and Niall glances up, finds the bright of his eyes shining in the dim neon of the glow sticks they've cracked to save on the lamps. He barely gets another moment to think before Harry’s sweeping him into a kiss. 

Niall grunts into it, shocked enough by the fierceness of Harry’s mouth. 

He tastes of too-milky tea and spice from the soup. Tastes _warm_. Niall presses into it, licking into his mouth before Harry can stop him again. His fingers scrabble at Harry’s shoulder, the air still cool outside the blankets they have wrapped around them. 

Harry’s breathing fast, his nose pressed to Niall’s cheek and it’s too rushed, too messy. Harry wrenches the blanket up over their heads and the whole world narrows down to them.

Niall pulls away, his mouth open and wet. Harry stares at him, his eyes just visible in the dim light. Niall breathes into the space between them, heat building a wall until it's stuffy around their faces. 

“I thought we were waiting to talk about it?” Niall asks, smoothing a thumb over Harry’s cheek so he knows he’s only jesting. 

Harry mouths at his fingers, trying to lick at them. “Later,” he says, drawing him into another kiss. 

Niall sighs into it, pushing a knee through his thigh. Harry’s hands fit at his hips, pulling him flush against him. He can feel the soft wool against his knee, the heavy weight of Harry’s soft dick against his own. 

He thought it would be rushed but Niall can feel himself ease into Harry’s chest, their arms locking around each other. 

Niall drags his mouth down Harry’s jaw, his teeth scraping against the rough patches of stubble there. He licks at his pulse point, thundering under his tongue and presses his cheek to his throat. 

“In the morning,” Niall murmurs. 

Harry hums, the sound loud and vibrating. “The morning.”

*

Niall makes the tea. Harry’s still bundled in the sleeping bag, his eyelids fluttering but awake.

It’s a dim grey outside, the windows fogged and dirty. Niall stirs in some of the long life milk, watching as it goes golden brown and hands the mug to Harry. 

Harry sits up slowly, his expression soft and gentle. Niall keeps thinking of last night and breaking into smiles -- soft, giddy ones that he should embarrassed about. But now that Harry’s up, he keeps getting them reflected back to him. 

“Come on,” Harry says, rolling himself out of his sleeping bag. They wait for a moment until they’re properly dressed, boots and jumpers and wooly hats pulled down over their ears. Niall wraps his palms around the steaming mug and follows him outside. 

The cold is shocking but it’s not as bad as yesterday, doesn’t feel as biting as it tries to seep through Niall’s three layers. Harry beams at him, sleep caught in the corner of his eye and hair a mess. His mouth looks red against his pale face, stubble growing back on his jaw. He jerks his chin and Niall looks up, catching the pinks and lilacs seeping across the sky. The sun creeps up slowly, a bright dawning ray of golden sunshine. 

Niall gasps, clutching his tea to his neck to feel it warm against his skin. “It’s beautiful,” Niall breathes out. He should go back for the camera but he can’t tear his gaze away from the sunrise. 

Harry smiles, not even looking at the sun but at Niall instead. “It is.”

Niall ducks his head, smiling to himself. Harry’s hand finds his and they link their freezing fingers together, staring out onto the horizon. 

Later, Harry will paraglide them down the mountain. Niall will be frozen in panic, his fingers clutched around his camera as they take off. 

Harry will hug a strong, sturdy arm around his chest and the anxiety will all melt away once they bob up in the air, buoyant in a way that Niall didn’t think was real. 

Niall will see further than he’s ever seen before, crystalised air and snow biting into the spots of his face that are uncovered, his eyes prickling with tears, his stomach in his throat.

He’ll never see anything as crystal blue and bright white. Never feel something so exhilarating as they accelerate towards the ground, Harry's reassuring weight anchoring behind him. 

And just like that, he’s caught the bug. 

He’ll tear up again when they watch it at home, both of them in their pyjamas and bottles of beer between their thighs. They’ve moved Niall’s television into Harry’s flat to watch it -- along with the rest of Niall’s stuff. 

Harry will laugh at him, nose against his jaw as he kisses down his neck. 

“You sap,” Harry will whisper into his ear. 

And Niall will turn into his kiss, mumbling how it’s the most perfect place he’s been.


End file.
